


god rest ye merry gentleman

by effie214



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effie214/pseuds/effie214
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has no idea how the story will end, and frankly, doesn’t care. He’s just happy it’s still being told. Written for the Smillan Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr. Prompt: Matt/Karen/Arthur, relationship or friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	god rest ye merry gentleman

He should be mingling; saying hello to a group of people that, over the years, have become friends and a sort of second family.

He should be letting the ice melt in whatever haphazard mixture of soda and spirit is in his glass, speaking of his plans now that he’s been written out  — perhaps joking that he and Karen are taking their circus of an existence on the road and try to milk every last cent they can out of the  _Doctor Who_ franchise — but he just can’t tear his eyes away from a sight he’s been waiting to see for years.

Matt’s in the kitchen of their newly acquired flat, which is empty save their half-constructed bed (somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur remembers telling them IKEA on the 23rd of December probably  _wasn’t_  a good idea) and Matt’s old couch — the only piece of furniture to pass the Gillan test. He’s got a paper crown, tilted askew, naturally, on top of his head, and is wearing the ugliest Christmas jumper known to man — but Karen seems to love it, probably given the fact that her partner in crime — in all definitions, finally — wears it so unironically.

There had always been a sense of instability in their stasis, and even though Arthur tried to stay out of their private business, he’d silently worried that instead of keeping time, they might have inadvertently been counting down to zero; to nothing. He’d known where centrifugal force was propelling them; that there was only ever one place for them to land after they’d admitted they’d fallen, and that was side by side.

He’s not sure when it happened — and part of him believes they don’t either — but he thinks back to that first Christmas special, when Matt had spent the time between takes dumping fake snow in Karen’s hair as enthusiastically as Karen had jumped into his arms each and every time “action” had been called, and Arthur remembers the warm familiarity with which they both acted. It was as though they planned on doing that every day for the rest of their lives but were still waiting for a starting pistol to tell them that the marathon to a happy ending had started.

He thinks back to last Christmas, to sitting in The Blue Box and hearing them enter, pushed by an impatient December wind, tones low and rushed in frustration. Everyone had known something had happened between London and New York and back again — they’d lived so many lives apart, and everyone around them wondered if they’d ever get around to living one together — but words had never been put to it until that day.  Arthur had been sipping on tea waiting for his call time, and the two of them stood in the corner, heat rising off their cheeks as ire started to build like stoked embers.  It wasn’t uncommon to be caught in that fire, that heady combination of a desire to run and yet stay awhile at the same time; they were each other’s lighthouses on a cloudy shore, and they set each other’s souls alight on a regular basis. This day, though, was the one and only time — until he settles on the approved couch, next to Matt’s granddad — Arthur had ever felt blinded.

Karen flew past both of them in a state for which Arthur still has no words, and he remembers looking to Matt in a manner, he figured, similar to the one Karen had had before they’d entered, and the joy and possibility that permeated the air that defined Christmas disappeared as though in a vacuum. Was it possible the story had ended before the first chapter had even been written?

Matt had sat down at the table and said something about having not invited her to Northampton assuming she was headed to Edinburgh, and Arthur found himself hoping with abandon, like he had as a child when Santa was an actuality and not just an idea, that second chances could be granted by proxy.

He’d talked to an AD, who’d called in a favor to their travel personnel, and soon Karen was being handed two tickets to New York for the New Year — and hopefully, a new beginning.

Even Santa needed helpers, Arthur figured, and knew he was in the right when Karen tried — and failed rather spectacularly — to surreptitiously kiss a hilariously bewildered Matt on the cheek in both forgiveness and thanks.

The pen found the paper again and started scratching madly away.

He has no idea how the story will end, and frankly, doesn’t care. He’s just happy it’s still being told.

He watches as they meet in the doorway. Matt runs a hand through her hair and tucks a strand behind her ear, and her hand automatically goes to his waist. Their conversation lasts less than a minute before Karen leans up and presses a light kiss to his lips and heads back to door duty and welcoming yet more people into the crowded room.

From the couch, Arthur smiles to himself, basking in the chaos.

It’s Christmas.

It’s love.


End file.
